


Chapter Seventeen: Haunted when the Minutes Drag

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [18]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two, Transformers: Beast Machines, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intervention, Medical Procedures, Other, Police Procedural, Post-Battle, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Pyrrhic victory at Temptoria, Artemis and Trailcutter receive their standing orders from the new director of security, and unlike Red Alert, Ultra Magnus means to run a tight ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Seventeen: Haunted when the Minutes Drag

So this is for when you're feeling happy again  
And this is for when you're feeling sad  
And this is for when you feel...  
Something

\--["Haunted When The Minutes Drag" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5EjdvwUPj4)by Love and Rockets, from _Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven_

The _Lost Light_  
In orbit of Temptoria  
Now

Artemis held her tongue as she helped Tailgate bring Cyclonus to the crowded medibay. "Helped" in the fact that she did most of the carrying; Tailgate was nigh hysterics. At first, she had hard time accepting Galvatron's former second on board the ranks, but since, there had been a subtle change in character, especially towards the white and blue Minibot. With Ambulon's aid, they laid the unconscious Cyclonus on a slab, letting Tailgate fuss over the body. There were at least twenty wounded total on the Autobot side.

Her hearing loss was likely temporary; she wasn't going to press the issue with the medical staff, not when there were casualties to save. She also had 'Cons to process; other than grunt work, she was useless here. It would be a matter of time before Ratchet lost it and ordered all nonessential personnel to get the hell out of his operating room.

The concrete wall she erected around her spark in battle cracked when she witnessed Chromedome's anguish over Rewind's status. Little good she could do at this point for either of them, and words — she was too blunt to give condolences, too jaded to give encouragement. Instead, she caught his gaze, nodded, and left before he could react.

Primus, she needed a drink, and Trailcutter had drained the last of her whisky. She needed to get him a flask of his own, one of these days. But he was right: it was nice to share, a chat over a pass of the flask.

Instead, she headed to the officers' floor. She needed to vent, and if Hound was right, she needed to report to her new boss.  
Knocking on the jamb — two quick raps, but full fisted, rattling the glass — Artemis thumbed the open glyph and stormed through, straight to the hot seat in front of the desk and fell in, elbows on knees, glaring at Ultra Magnus.

"Rumour squashing, first and foremost," she initiated. "You're taking over Red's position?"

"Temporarily," he answered, his tone just as clipped as hers. "Until we can find a suitable replacement." Meaning not her or Trailcutter. She was fine with that.

"Second: what the hell happened out there?"

He sighed, folding his hands over his datapad. "The troops...got cocky. It was our first major battle as a unit. We should have concentrated on drills, focused more on squad unity—"

"—And why didn't we? Why were noncombatants allowed on the front lines instead of being assigned to support roles? Why are we not going over proper weapon protocol? Why was Rod and Drift were arguing which target belonged to who — blind-drunk Wreckers behaved better than that — this was unacceptable!"

After a quarter-cycle silence, Magnus arched a brow. "This coming from the person who reports to the medibay roughly once a decacycle to reattach digits from a failed weapons test."

"Was that an attempt to lighten the mood? Didn't work. Not when there's stupid mistakes made on the battlefield, costing us casualties and setbacks."

"And you're coming to me rather than Rodimus because you know I agree with you."

She gave a terse nod.

"I've already spoken to him on protocol," Magnus sat straight, arms now crossed over his chest. "He made a bad call. He knows it. He let his ego get ahead of the mission, and it cost us. And he knows my disappointment with the outcome." He tilted his head to one side, catching her gaze. "You performed well today. If you could show that level of responsibility off the field, you'd make a fine officer."

"It's that Wrecker mentality of mine," she harrumphed, standing. "I'm just too insubordinate. But I'm glad my grievance was already addressed."

"They have been noted, yes."

"And do you believe they've been taken seriously?"

"I do."

"Good." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'd hate to have to give Rod a Wrecker style lesson in respect."  
"Indeed."

Oh, this game — a good however annoying sign. One did not leave the office of the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord without being dismissed; to do so warranted a tear down. He was testing her patience, and she only asked to be dismissed if she was mad at him, which averaged about five cycles into the game.

The door buzzed before two cycles passed; Trailcutter entered the office, physically undamaged, coming to a stop on her right. "You wanted to see me, Magnus?" He gave Artemis a nod. She tapped the right side of her helm. Still ringing, but she could make out some words, enough for context.

"Yes, I wanted to clear up the assignments," Returning to his datapad, the largest of the three Autobots typed a series of orders and forwarded them to the security team's own 'pads. "I'm putting you both on swing shifts with a two megacycle overlap, and on call for the remainder, to minimise future incidents. Also, I've received a report from Ratchet prior to the Temptoria campaign that Rung will be returning to duty within the decacycle; you both are to report to him for mandatory evaluation for a schedule to deal with your substance abuse."

Both Artemis and Trailcutter stiffened, but nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Together, they turned on their heel and marched out of the office.

They maintained silence until they reached the lift. Once the doors closed, they released a collective breath.

"Well, frag," Artemis swore.

Trailcutter muttered something. Shaking her head, she darted around him from behind and took to his right. "Sorry, bro; my audio's still messed up."

"I was saying, at least he didn't kick you off the team," Trailcutter pointed out.

"Yeah, I think after I blew up about the last campaign, he'd be too afraid to."

"What happened?"

"Did you notice the clusterfrag out there? I mean, who the hell would allow Swerve, whose aim only goes so far as pouring a lager, to tote a plasma energy cannon?"

"Technically, Whirl. Which reminds me, I really should petition Rodimus to bring back a checks and balances for experimental weapons — "

"But who allowed Swerve to join the front lines? That's my point!"

"Hello? Experimental, likely untested, weapon?"

"Too many 'bots are out of commission for at least a decacycle, and they were unnecessary casualties to boot! We could have won with minimal resistance had we not gone all cowboy!"

"Okay, number one: why are we not looking at Brainstorm for accountability? And two, I didn't know you knew Earth slang."

"Honey, my best friend at Four Winds was human and my roommate is a Earth pop culture junkie. Well, Minerva may be human — she was from Earth, at least. Anyway, picked up a lot of bad habits from her. As for your first question...." She shrugged.

"Dunno."

He stared at the ceiling, shaking his head with mock exacerbation. "Well, at least you're still on the team. Must say something. So, how long were you flirting before I got there?"

"We weren't flirting."

"Yeah? He didn't want you to leave, and you didn't want to interrupt him. You were flirting."

"He probably wanted to wait until you got there so that he could chew us out together. More efficient that way. Primus, I need a drink." She also should head down once things quieted down in the medibay about her hearing; there was something strange, almost wrong, about having him on her left.

"Same here. Seeing our shifts don't start until tomorrow morning, I say we go out with a bang."

"Your shift starts tomorrow morning; I come in mid-day. And might I point out to the Ethics Committee — "

"Oh, I see where this is going."

"I'm so getting fendered out of protest." She took out her flask, slapping Trailcutter's hand away when he reached for it. "It's empty, thanks to you. No, I was thinking about leaving this in the hab; might as well get a jump start on sobriety."  
His smile dropped, replaced with concern. "What's on your mind, Art?"

"Doubt." She waved away his intended comment. "No, not because of our court appointed therapy sessions. I'm just...frustrated after today."

"Good 'bots got hurt," Trailcutter agreed.

"Just — lots of things happened. Are we any closer to finding the Cee-Oh-Ell? Just because we found a 'Con camp...yanno, I got 'Cons to process. I gotta get my mind off this."

"Need a hand?"

She halted, staring at his back. "You want to help out with paperwork?"

Turning to face her, he rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "I kinda have to supposedly keep an optic on you to make sure you don't kinda get needled into beating the prisoners senseless."

She sneered, but it was coupled with a sheepish raise of her brows, then caught up with him, continuing their trek. "Primus, I have a reputation, don't I?"

"Sorry."

"Ain't your fault, 'Cutter."

"You're keyed up, I understand. We had friends hurt."

"For stupid reasons," Artemis groused. "Taking to the fact that Swerve's getting his face grafted back on, we're likely not going to have our usual spot tonight."

"So, back to that? After we finish up in the brig...?"

"I'm thinking of swinging by the medibay, just to check up. I'm...I'm trying to keep myself distracted."

"Rewind's a friend of yours."

"I owe him big time."

"Art, how many times do I have to tell you? Friendship is not a commodity."

"No, but that doesn't mean I can't pay my debts."

"I'll never understand merc mentality. So! After we're done with the brig and medibay, your place, mine, or Observation Deck, take two?"

For once, she listened to her common sense regarding neutral territory. "You know, I think I'd rather stare at the stars tonight. Got a lot on my mind."

"I'd imagine you would."

*

Processing took less time than Artemis had expected. While Trailcutter was worried about her going off the rails on the 'Cons, they didn't take into consideration was the serious beat-down those who were still conscious.

They were met by Ambulon, who had been ordered to offer and, if needed, administer medical care. "I don't think Rodimus thought this through," he wrung his hands around the handle of his kit. "I should have spoken up."

"Ambulon switched sides," Artemis explained to her companion. To the medic, she added, "Good thing you've got a couple of heavies to watch your back, eh? So, game plan: triage first, process, offer aid if they cooperate. So, which one of us wants to do the paperwork end of things?" This, she directed to Trailcutter.

"I see what you did there," he grumbled.

"Just as long as you can cover Ambulon if someone gets feisty, I'll do the paperwork." Strategically, it would have been ideal for her to follow Ambulon for the melee end of things, giving him the option of long range support if things bottomed out. "Just remember, let Ambulon be the good cop and, if they give him trouble, look tough. Crack your knuckles, that usually works with grunts. Officers, you may have to grab them by the neck and wind up — "

"You're not convincing me to let you back up Ambulon, you know."

"She does have a point," Ambulon glanced from one mech to the other. "After all, they've seen her in action already."

He cast his gaze upward, worrying his bottom lip. After a quarter-cycle, he relented. "May it be in the record that the only reason I'm agreeing to help you shirk from paperwork is because you've got the intimidation factor already in your favour," Trailcutter pointed a finger at her nose.

"You're the best," she smiled, handing him the 'pad.

"And just to have you know," Ambulon assured, "I'm not completely defenceless."

Ambulon only had to use his hypodermic sedative once, on Rage. The other 'Cons were trading half-sparked barbs. With Rage drooling in the corner and Nautilator unconscious, the other Decepticons had little interest to retaliate.

"Hey, Trailbreaker," Fortress Maximus called out from his end of the brig; the large mech was given a double-wide, medium security cell all to himself. "Nice guns there. Your Wrecker friend could learn from you."

"You boys and your on board weaponry," Artemis chuckled, as Trailcutter rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "'Oh, slag, my arm jammed! What now?'"

"And thus why Wreckers have a thirty-eight percent survival rate," Max jabbed; he was grinning. "'I've been disarmed! What now? I'll just head-butt this 'Con repeatedly until one of us loses consciousness!'"

"Laugh all you want," she countered. "'Cutter and Hoist have a running theory my head's made of crystek ore. And it's forty-two percent survival rate. The thirty-eight was thrown about to scare potentials into serving with the regulars."

"Need us to get you anything, Max?" Trailcutter questioned, busying himself on the 'pad. "We'd have to run it by command, of course, but — "

"I'll take a couple of the 'Cons you brought in for punching bags, but if I can't have that, requisition some decent cinema; I can only take so much protoform propaganda flicks and cipher games."

"Gimme," Artemis took the 'pad back, minimised the report program, and brought up her media folder. She found Max's 'pad on the wireless — without restrictions, command still trusted him on the ship's public intranet — and copied over a couple of her favourite Sirian action-comedy movies. "That should keep you busy until I can get Cav to download you some gaming apps. I'd recommend _Angry Birds_. There's a time killer if ever I've encountered one." To Trailcutter, she added, "What? There's only so many times I could clean my weapons in downtime between missions."

Bidding Max goodnight, the three left the brig.

"Any word on the wounded?" Artemis questioned Ambulon. 

He shook his head. "I've been concentrating on my prisoner welfare report, but I'm going to say no news is good news at this point. How's your audio receptor? Your equilibrium appears a bit off."

"Still a bit of ringing, not as bad as before."

"Concussion blast, correct? Probably a simple disconnection, shouldn't take too long to fix."

"I'll finish up those reports, Art," Trailcutter took her 'pad once again. "Meet you at the observation deck?"

"Keep me posted if plans change," she agreed, following the nurse to the upper levels.

Ambulon led Artemis to the intake room of the medibay, just outside the operating room; the chaos from earlier had subsided within, but with Ratchet shooing out patients with superficial injuries and visitors, it was wise to stay out of his and First Aid's way.

Ambulon replaced and reconnected her auditory sensors, all while cursing out whoever installed her after-market heat sinks. "Small wonder why you get the headaches," he muttered, the first thing she heard clearly from her right side since the battle, proceeding to recalibrate the fans, "this should ease up the pressure, though I'd like First Aid to give them a once-over when things get quiet again."

"Thanks — last thing I need is Ratchet telling me I'm messed up, like he doesn't every single fragging time —"

"It's his way of saying that you need to be less reckless," Ambulon explained. After a pause, he added, "I remember you, you know. Back on Messatine, three or four stels ago? I had been a ward nurse at Delphi." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You ... never disclosed what happened when you joined the _Lost Light_ — "

"Because as far as I'm concerned, it never happened," Artemis interrupted. She locked on a point past the O.R. window; Chromedome was saying something to Whirl; the former was animated, then hugged the latter. How easy it would be to ask the mnemosurgeon to take away those memories associated to that time. Perhaps if she did not hold Chromedome's _conjunx endura_ in such high regard....

"Artemis," Ambulon beckoned, derailing her brooding. "It did. And looking back, if it wasn't for the fact that Skyfire refused to leave your side, Pharma could have been handed over to the D.J.D., whether whole or just your T-cog."

"I'm not ready to talk about it," she amended.

"If not to Ratchet, then to Rung," Ambulon reminded. "Because it's only a matter of time before Ratchet gets downtime to look through old records."

"I'll talk to Rung," she affirmed.

Ambulon nodded. "Thank you. But I'd like you to come in when things settle and see First Aid about those heat sinks. I don't like the looks of them."

"You think they're causing my migraines?"

"Or a symptom. And where First Aid had been your physician on Earth — "

"I'll do that, then," she agreed. "We set?"

Another nod. "Stay safe, Artemis."

 

NEXT CHAPTER: Thanks for the Night


End file.
